I Wanna Be A Flintstone

John "Johnny Rotten" Lydon's recent commercial for a British butter company has been ricocheting around the blogosphere. The former frontman for the Sex Pistols got a big ol' chunk of change for this whimsical, slightly absurd little piece at a time when the company who signed him on to do this shortened their payroll. (Come on, people: How do you expect them to pay the punk-rock icon's Appropriate Fee and working stiffs' wages at the same time?) I'm not even going to lambaste Lydon for making a buck. When Johnny was your age, he was at the forefront of a cultural revolution carving his name into rock history. He was also getting hassled by police frequently, violently attacked by passersby and watching the things he loved (family, friends) die. As a member of Public Image Ltd., he's been part of some of the greatest alt-rock albums ever made. (Next time you corner Matt Skiba, ask him to tell you his favorite band in life.)

But unlike all the bands whose music you pulled off the net for free, Lydon doesn't need money. Years ago, a British court gave him ownership of Glitterbest and Matrixbest, the companies put together by former Pistols manager Malcolm McLaren to exploit the living hell out of the band. In addition, Lydon's wife is a German newspaper heiress. Oh, and did I mention he's licensed to sell real estate in Malibu, California? So why in the hell is he pimping for butter when at his age, he should be leaning the other way and carrying the banner for Lipitor? You wanna live longer to spend that cash, right? Less butter, more cheddar, f'r sure...

Cultural relevance is an addictive drug. Does any British national 40 years or older think that butter tastes better because J-Ro's pimping it? ("Cor! 'e spat in my mouf at the Roxy in '76. Gotta go the shop, now!") No. Most people who see Lydon now frame him as a celebrity cartoon with nothing to offer but camp. Our John is never going to write another song as great as "Bodies" or "Swan Lake," but he might ride a Pistols reunion tour into the sunset if it means getting the attention of dullards who claim that band changed their life, even if they do have a complete collection of Journey discs (Oh wait: I already blogged about those hydrocephalic types at XM). Lydon isn't racist, but we know he got some news mileage out of that whole "black attitude" run-in with Bloc Party's Kele Okereke at a music festival in Barcelona, Spain. These days, the thought of Lydon in a guest-judge slot on American Idol doesn't seem far-fetched, but it doesn't seem like prime TiVo bait, either.

Earlier this week, I blogged about Peter Hammill, the leader of Van der Graaf Generator and solo artist whose music Lydon has championed in the past. I heard a story that an NPR affiliate was doing a piece on Hammill and contacted John Boy's manager to see if they could secure an interview with J-Ro discussing Hammill's work. Management turned the producer down cold, saying "Requests like these are so tiresome..."

Said management dude certainly knows what "tiresome" is--he's been making bank off of it for years, now...

Vision & Blues

I've spent the last two days fighting off a sinus headache that would make a hippo want to bite down on a nuclear warhead. I could never figure how anybody can function with some kind of cranial malady. Once I tried filing budgets with a migraine, and I accidentally paid somebody $6 a word. (No worries, though: I think it was for Tim Karan's Anthony Green valentine.) Man, the list of things I've agreed to in order to get some alone-time to cope with headache pain is staggering: "Sugar Ray would make a great cover, right?" "Listen to our demo. We're called the Flipside." "I think we should hire Scott Heisel. Pettigrew?"

I can only speak for myself, but the best thing about headache pain is the drug cocktail I ingest to stop it. Naw, I'm not talking Absolut and St. Joseph aspirin (mmmm, orange!). I'm talkin' the usual combo of over-the-counter action and prescription allergy meds, washed down with overpriced bottled water. You know why? The dreams are really, really cool.

According to my darkened brain, last night I was in some club in Chicago. My old-school AP buddies were buying rounds of drinks and making sure my glass was always full. I watched a bouncer put a clueless blogger critic through a door without opening it. But most importantly, there was this band playing old-school punk/new wave blasts. I didn't catch their name, but I knew who was in it: Dustin Donaldson (drums, I Am Spoonbender), Justin Pearson (bass, the Locust), Rocky Crane (guitar, Year Future, Some Girls) and Russell Haswell (laptop racket-maker). They were all wearing suits and playing some of the most tightly wound energy blasts I've ever heard in my life. Then, just before a Tracy Adams doppelganger grabbed my neck, my sheltie Bowie jumped on my chest (yes, in the bar), and I found myself awake, back in Cleveland and struggling to find my bathrobe so I could take the barky bastard outside.

As much as I miss free booze and hanging with my dear friends, I'm really saddened the above band doesn't exist. But my sadness has given way to blog fodder. So in the spirit of Tim Karan's fantasy football leagues and my cold medicine-induced alternate reality, I am now asking you to send over your dream-band lineups. The only rules are that all your players have to be alive and you gotta name three songs you'd want to hear your hand-picked team play. Get goin'.

Killer Born Man: Peter Hammill

In addition to being the founder of the legendary British progressive-rock outfit Van der Graaf Generator, PETER HAMMILL is an accomplished solo artist with a catalog of over 30 releases that are, to the say least, difficult to categorize. His last solo record, Singularity, was issued in 2006, but it's only this month that Hammill is touring America for the first time in nine years, playing solo shows and drawing from various periods in his celebrated career. Not only is he constantly writing and recording, he's still helming Van Der Graaf (their latest, Trisector, was issued by Virgin earlier this year). As a professional musician for four decades, the 60-year-old Hammill has been an inspiration to legions of musicians, from heartfelt singer-songwriters to diehard prog heads to old-school punks to underground alt-rock aficionados. While maintaining a career in music for that long a period is possible, a career with continued relevance is something altogether different. (Of course, not like 89 percent of the bands operating right now will ever need to worry about that.)

Your latest solo release was in 2006. Obviously, you aren't doing a promote-the-disc tour in 2008. Why are you coming to the states now? Was this something you had planned on doing for a while?

Well, nine years is quite a while. Actually, it's become more complicated for Europeans to come on tour these days. I was enormously helped in getting a visa, and since it runs for a year, it would have been churlish not to take the opportunity to come back for more than just a couple of shows. Playing live has never been a promote-the-disc experience [to me].

Everybody I talk to that's familiar with your work cites Nadir's Big Chance as your Revolver or Sgt Pepper. The disc has been described as everything from "gutter prog" to "proto-punk" to allegedly being a huge influence on one Johnny "Rotten" Lydon and other players in the original British punk scene. Thirty-three years after the fact, why do you think that disc has resonated with people?

I suppose the resonance is that the songs were simple, but infused with what appears to be the strangeness I bring to pop songs. I definitely wasn't trying to write any manifesto--or was I? In my own view, "Two Or Three Spectres" [a timeless diatribe on the music business] is the crucial song, rather than "Nadir," itself. But it all seemed bleedin' obvious to me, anyway. It's true though, [that record] was a major influence on a number of major players of the era '77. When it came out, many reviewers were led to question my sanity and whether I--and by extension VdGG--had any kind of creative future in prospect!

As a professional musician who's been doing this most of his life, you've seen trends come and go. Now we're seeing what looks like the slightly accelerated demise of the Record Industry As We Know It. Is it easier for you to conduct business now than ever before, or are you experiencing hurdles you didn't have to face, say, 10-15 years ago?

The hurdles have constantly changed, but I think the present is an extraordinarily difficult time in which to attempt to make a living from making music, particularly for those just starting out. The perception that recorded music should be (almost) free and that somehow everyone will make money touring (Whhaaaatt?) is clearly bonkers. But really, this [exchange] is hovering at the portal of a whole other debate I'm reluctant to go towards right now, filled with youthful enthusiasm and gung-ho fervor as I am at the prospect of A Stage.

With 12 Van der Graaf records and a catalogue of 30 solo releases, I'd perceive you as very been there/done that/sold the shirt on eBay. What/who impresses you these days, musically and/or artistically?

Well, I don't follow stuff to be honest. And although I know of some stuff and "approve" of some, useless namechecking is, as they say, a losing game. But in the old dictum, there are only two kinds of music--good and bad. The definition/split lies in the heart of the musicians making it.

Fans of progressive rock, singer-songwriter enthusiasts and various subcultures of the whole punk/new wave/alternative rock pantheon have embraced your work. When you are making a record, is there a predetermined aesthetic or are there extra-musical factors that will determine process and outcome?

It's entirely internal. I don't even think about what I've done in the past; except maybe to go, 'Oh, did that last time, so...' Usually something or other emerges to be a theme--musical, lyrical, spiritual, conceptual or whatever--in the process of writing/recording. But in general, I find I'm chipping away at the stone in an effort to reveal what's within, rather than building up plaster in a this-is-what-I-currently-think way.

Younger critics are fond of playing the age card, using such pejorative vernacular as "old farts" or "dinosaurs" in describing older performers. Your work--both solo and with VdGG--seems to be just as passionate, inspired and urgent as ever. A 50-something member of a prominent groundbreaking class of '77 punk band once told me that "The Rolling Stones aren't boring because they're old; they're boring because they're boring." Do you have an opinion on ageism in contemporary music? Has it affected how you do things or is it a complete non-issue in your universe?

Non-issue. And issue. There's interesting stuff to write about the ghastliness of getting older. And incidentally, I'd rather be doing that for an evening than heading down to the disco with Mick & co., though I don't mean to knock anyone's continued enjoyment of playing. I think in many ways, I was old before my time. But there's still that kid bursting inside to hit his three-chord tricks in me.

How would you describe the Peter Hammill Fan v.2K8?

By now, thankfully, there's absolutely no archetype. Could be 16 or 70. Professor or punk. Fighter pilot or unreconstructed hippie. I think, though, the whole crowd are unified by a certain independence of mind and a capacity for (usually constructive) criticism of The Artist in Question.

Peter Hammill's American tour starts in San Francisco tomorrow. Tour dates and other background material on both Hammill and VdGG can be had at Sofa Sound, Hammill's long-running personal imprint.

Good And Gone

XM Satellite Radio recently announced they were eliminating their punk channel, Fungus 53, from the company's programming lineup. When you tune in to 53 now, there's an all AC/DC format which is being used to pimp the Aussie metal legends' latest album. You know, the one only WalMart gets to sell. I know all the morons in my hometown will flock to Sam Walton's place to buy the thing, whether or not their white-trash girlfriends have been treated badly while working there.

But this entry isn't about AC/DC, retail giants that crush small local businesses or any of my ex-girlfriends. Nope. This entry is about how the folks behind Fungus were cut from the same kind of soiled adult-diaper cloth that gave us the ball-sniffing palm-phuckers who run commercial radio. Consider XM's Lou Brutus, your typical "radio dude" whose penchant for self-promotion is inherent to his being the way breathing is to you and I. If you visit Bruto's website, you'll see him posing with a plethora of stars (Look! Lou with Jonathan of Korn! Lou hanging with Dave Grohl!). You'll also see him posing with folks with real cred, like Jello Biafra, a guy who, in the past, might have written a song or two about the very cesspits LouLou calls his kingdom. No kidding: On the off-chance when there are no celebrities in the room, Lou wants you to know that the guy who's taking his picture just happens to be from Rolling Stone. (Attention Expectant Mothers: If you don't breast-feed your children enough, your children may develop the exact same behavior.) It should be noted that Lou-Lou has never exhibited any real kind of vision for music like, say, KEXP's Kevin Cole or Nic Harcourt. Loobie raved about Goldfinger's "FTN" and became a massive bore about it to some of the unfortunate folks in his circle, raving about the song to people who were already in the know about the track four years prior. (Jon Zellner, XM Senior Vice President of Programming, is probably too busy drinking diet soda and watching his deluxe box set of Friends DVDs to ever care about music in the first place.)

Of course, you might say this blog sounds like sour grapes, due to the fact that The AP Show (the podcast you can download from our site, as well as iTunes), started out as a piece of exclusive XM programming. AP's association with XM lasted for over 30 shows from August 2006 to March 2007, where we featured exclusive interviews and acoustic sessions featuring folks like Paramore, Chiodos, Sparta, Gym Class Heroes, Strike Anywhere, Head Automatica and many others, as well as the charming/annoying repartee you've come to love/hate from Scott Heisel and myself. At no point did XM offer any kind of financial restitution to AP to offset the cost of producing the shows; our show cost XM nothing to run. In response, XM did nothing to promote the more exclusive aspects of our show to the world at large, but they were fond of sending press releases discussing their latest plans for world domination. Hell, we couldn't even get mentioned in their fucking newsletter.

It should be stated that we were approached by XM because their operatives knew virtually nothing about the whole pop-punk/emo/screamo culture and frankly, wanted no parts of it. They knew how to program every band that ever rocked a Pennywise sticker on their road cases, and little else. They wanted us to cover the stuff they didn't care about that was gaining traction with listeners.

When we were given our termination notice after seven months, we obviously asked Brutus why. He said, "We got some email complaints." We asked him to forward them our way, but he said it wouldn't matter because the decision was irreversible and "we didn't fit." (Duh.) When we pressed him for more details, he threw a hissyfit about how a Sirius-related boombox was featured in one of our product guides in an issue of AP, and that the three-line item (with accompanying photo), "has people here pissed." (The ones who should've been pissed were the XM publicists who didn't think to send us deets on their company's products in time to be mentioned in the column in the first place.) When we asked him about the lack of support from XM regarding promoting the show, he did that little "what did I do?" dance similar to the way a sociopath child torturing animals acts when he's discovered. (In all fairness, there were times when we were late delivering the show to XM due to our personal ineptitude, but that seems like cookie crumbs to the bigger picture.)

So what happened after we got fired from XM? We offered the podcast for free via iTunes and the AP site. You know what happened then? A huge influx in download stats, reader mail and interest from bands and labels wanting their music heard on the show. Being tossed off of XM was one of the best things that ever happened to us. That's not sour grapes; that the freshest nectar you can get.

It's just naivete on behalf of AP (back then) and XM subscribers (especially the AP-hatin' ones) to think that punk rock (in all of its misnomered myriad subcultures) was going to be given a fair shake by a clueless overpaid corporate lackey. I might've considered going down "to corporate HQ" to find Brutus and drain the blood out of him so people in remote arid regions could have some kind of fluid to make their toilets flush. But he seems pretty blood-free and soulless in the first place.

So RIP, Fungus 53. But cheer up, XM listeners: There's a new Nickelback disc coming out, and Lou can't wait to show you some pix of him bro-ing down on, er... with Chad Kroeger.

Jesus Chrysler Drives A Dodge

I'm madder than a vegan fuming over the Sarah Palin-endorsed systematic slaughter of wolves in Alaska. Two of my old-school punk buddies stood me up for a trip to Cle. They were supposed to come to see From The Jam, featuring two of the three members of the legendary British mod-punk band who aren't millionaire socialists. There were some reasons I could understand, even if one of the guys actually thought he could sneak away from his 16th wedding anniversary to a rock show 178 miles away. When one guy crumbled to maintain marital bliss, my other bud looked at his checkbook and told me he couldn't afford to fill up the car without help from our other friend. Apparently, it costs $50 to fill up the tank of a Cavalier in these unregulated economic times.

Well, I think I'm going to stay at home that night; it just wouldn't seem right going without having my longtime punk-rock foxhole buddies with me. It is my great hope that oil companies' record profits don't impede anything you want to do with your lives.

Okay, AP's individual financial advisor just arrived and I'm going to have to pick out the refrigerator box I'll be living in when 2030 rolls around. I'll get back to you in a bit, swear.....

Killer Born Man: A Series

From time to time, I'll be launching a series of interviews with people I admire greatly. These folks may range from artists who fall outside the realm of what AP covers to writers whose work I've enjoyed to individuals whose lives may have significantly intersected with mine to people who I just think are cool as hell. It is my hope that you become enlightened, entertained and/or enraged by some of the folks featured under the heading Killer Born Man.

MIKE LAVELLA is the man who practically drafted the cars-and-rock axis known as Gearhead. Frequently imitated (and co-opted by people with lots of cash and no clues) but never equaled, Gearhead was the first periodical to focus on the "Kustom Kulture" of car enthusiasts and underground rock. The mag's success stems from a creative mindset where automotive journalists coexist with punk rockers and respected auto photographers are featured alongside A-list underground visual artists. In addition to the mag and the apparel line, LaVella also founded Gearhead Records, a label that made waves with a full-on roster that included the New Bomb Turks, the Hellacopters, the Wildhearts, Riverboat Gamblers amongst many others. (Check it out: The label was the first to release music in this country by a bunch of Swedes calling themselves the Hives.) Ultimately deciding to focus on journalism, he severed ties with the record label in 2006, but LaVella is still a voracious music enthusiast that keeps tabs on what's happening in various genres.

LaVella, now 43, knows a couple things about punk rock. He was a big figure in hardcore culture in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, during the early 80s, first as frontman for the city's first hardcore band, Real Enemy, and later as bassist in Half Life. When that band ran its course, he moved out to San Francisco and ended up following his bliss in a universe where Mopar parts and Misfits singles loom large.

School my bitch ass: Isn't Gearhead considered the first mag to align the worlds of automobile enthusiasts and underground hard rock?
Yeah. Gearhead is the first ever so-called "Kustom Kulture" magazine, which has been imitated so many times now that it's easy for folks to forget that it came first by a good five or six years, no less. Before Juxtapoz, before Garage, before everything. That's not my ego [talking], just a fact.

What accomplishments in the mag are you most proud of running?
Well, the interview I did with [underground art avatar] Robert Williams in 1999 directly lead to my writing The Hot Rod World of Robert Williams and then the Cole Foster interview in #14 lead to my writing Cole Foster and Salinas Boys Customs. Style. Substance [both for Motorbooks]. I guess you could say when I do a piece on someone, I like to go so deep, I'm essentially considered an expert on the subject, kinda like writing a dissertation for a doctorate degree. The fact that my articles have been expanded into books twice is the ultimate feather in my cap, I suppose.

What do you feel were the label's high points?
Well, let me just say we went from absolutely nothing to having the Hives, the Hellacopters, New Bomb Turks, the Dragons, the Wildhearts, "Demons", Riverboat Gamblers, Turbo A.C.'s and Electric Eel Shock on the roster in just a few short years. As a roster goes, that's pretty rock solid.

Are you offended by alleged "punks" wearing classic-rock t-shirts as some sort of gesture toward irony, or am I just a grumpy old man projecting onto you?
I really, honestly, gave up trying to understand what kids like or do about 10 or 12 years ago. I look at AP and am just baffled. If you have to pick something annoying [it's that young people] don't realize they are all into music that’s been regurgitated so many times now. Hot Hot Heat = XTC, whatever hip-at-the-moment "funky-punk" band is just a Gang Of Four rip-off, etc.
If I was a kid, I think, at least I hope I'd be into whatever my generation was actually creating at the time. I know I was lucky to be 16 in 1981: I got to play with Husker Du, Bad Brains, Samhain, Minutemen, GBH, etc--like pretty much all the best bands of the era--and then came to San Francisco in 1988 at age 23 and saw Nirvana, Mudhoney, Soundgarden et., in tiny clubs. I put myself into the best spot to see all those things as they were happening the first time around, and I'm glad I did. Would I trade it for a college degree and a good-paying job? No fucking way, because I'm now realizing that my experiences themselves are valuable. In the last year, I've been interviewed for books that are coming out about Agnostic Front, Gilman Street, Husker Du and Eric Davidson's magnum opus about the "lost years" of rock 'n' roll that are never covered in documentaries, roughly the time between Minor Threat and Nirvana, which was probably the best time ever when you look at bands from the era like the Wipers, the Devil Dogs, etc.

As an proponent for hardcore in Pittsburgh during the 80s, commercial FM rock was the culture you were fighting against.
Actually I just heard Life With The Enemy [Real Enemy's 1983 self-released cassette] for the first time in over 20 years this week. The main thing that shocked me was just how angry we were. About what? I guess the fact that we lived in a world where it was perfectly fine to shave your head and paint it like a Steelers helmet, but if you wrote the word "Discharge" on your jeans, you were taking your life into you own hands. Just the simple injustice of being so persecuted for looking/acting/being different. In hindsight, that's what fueled my fire. Of course now, green hair and mohawks are as common as crew cuts, probably more so. We won, I guess.

What was the impetus for starting Gearhead? I don't remember you being way into cars in your days in Hermine, Pennsylvania.
Well, I was actually, very much so. You are a big part of the reason I gravitated away from that. I had older friends who could turn a wrench, and for a while there, they were the center of my universe. I remember being taught to rattle off each of the Big 3's engines in order from smallest to biggest. "Mike, do Mopar" "Okay, let's see... Slant 6, 273, 318, 340, 360, 392, 400, 426, 440" like that. In fact, a lot of what I know about makes and models of cars dates directly to that era. But then you and [Pittsburgh scene fixtures like] Eric Bauer and Bill Slam came along. How could I concentrate on cars when this whole new world of creative and aggressive music was being opened up to me? You would play me the Sex Pistols one week, the Damned another, make me an XTC tape, whatever. Eric Bauer got me into the Ramones and Stranglers. The first tape Bill Slam ever made for me had the Meatmen and Necros on one side, Red Cross and the Gun Club on the other! I mean, to a kid into Rush or whatever, it really was so exciting. Also, it was never lost on me that I was the only kid in my entire school district who even knew that this stuff existed. It was like being initiated into a secret society, and I ate it up. In short, anyone could save up for a car, but I was buying every punk record I could afford, and seeing that I was picking up Misfits singles for $3 each, I think I made the right choice.
But yeah, the car thing did cool off until I got to California, where you could actually see people driving muscle cars, hot rods and customs on a daily basis. Just yesterday, I guy in a '32 five-window Ford coupe passed me on the Bay Bridge. The culture is actually bigger now than when I got here 20 years ago, and that--combined with my love for the imagery of Ed "Big Daddy" Roth, Robert Williams, Stanley Mouse, etc--really fired my imagination.

When you're dealing with younger contributors to the Gearhead franchise, do you get the vibe there is a sense of entitlement?
Actually some people--The Hypnomen come to mind, instantly--were really great to work with. Other bands--the Pink Swords, for instance--broke up after playing only one show after we sunk $30,000 into them. And they didn't even bother calling to let us know they broke up. It's shit like that which made me run for the exit.

What things excite you today, musically and otherwise?
It's a cliche, but I really am all over the map. I love the new soul bands like Lefties Soul Connection from Holland, Osaka Monaurail from Japan, the Bamboos from Australia, and Nick Rossi Set from here. Lots of Parliament/Funkadelic, Sly and the Family Stone, Tower Of Power... I do live in Oakland after all! I also actually love glam, bubblegum, power pop, all kinds of, shall we say, more listenable stuff than one might imagine I'd dig. But mostly I constantly revisit what I consider the golden era of around 1978 to 1982: Bands like Devo, the Birthday Party, Buzzcocks, Joy Division, the Jam, the Rezillos, the Boys, Gang Of Four, Killing Joke, the Pretenders, Wall Of Voodoo, the Cramps, the Runaways, the Clash, Wreckless Eric, the Saints, Real Kids, Mission Of Burma, Radio Birdman, Motorhead, the Dickies, the Stranglers, the Slits, the Undertones... I could go on for hours; I guess I'll never get over how much incredible stuff came out of that five-year period. Then, I guess it's all the better stuff that comes right after that like the Scientists, Lime Spiders, the Necros, Naked Raygun, Big Black, etc. Let's see, I love Lee Hazlewood and Serge Gainsbourg. Current stuff though, I love Fabienne Delsol, Lightning Beat-Man and pretty much anything that Billy Childish does. Like I said, all over the map.

As a guy who's been there, done that, sold the shirt on eBay, what piece of philosophy would you impart to young people who are (or think they are) pursuing any kind of counter-cultural, artistic juncture?

Study everything that came before you! As my SF homeboy Jim Jones said, "Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it." You'll look like a very unoriginal loser unless you have a working knowledge of everything significant that came first. I did my homework, and so should they. The difference is, everything is now at their fingertips via the internet, so they have no excuse.

Check out the world of Gearhead right here.

Growing For Gold

Last Friday, the AP art staff held their end o' summer party (frequently rendered on flyers as ApARTy). Yeah, it was a grey and rainy day, but the food was fabulous, the cornhole games were spirited and the banter outside the corridors of the AP Skyscraper was positively chummy, as opposed to "Pettigrew! That should have been to design three days ago! WTF!"

One of these moments involved a chat with a staffer (who shall remain nameless) about feeling on the outskirts of rock history. Said staffer was saying their significant other has seen all sorts of great moments in rock, from U2 and Springsteen's requisite jumps to arenas to other events people would covet. The staffer added, "I never saw anything like that. I've just seen Agnostic Front 50 times, or so."

Personally, I think seeing AF that many times says something about their appeal, as well as someone's loyalty toward the band. But at the end of the conversation, I realize that the important thing is context. I know if Springsteen or U2 were playing across the street, I'd probably stay home to catch a rerun of Burn Notice on USA. Is missing something you don't care about that is defined by others as "essential," really a loss? Okay, so I never made it to Seattle at the height of grunge. Does that make the Lake Of Dracula gig I saw (total attendance: 14) that less significant? Yes, I saw the legendary Red Hot Chili Peppers/Smashing Pumpkins/Pearl Jam tour. (It was pretty good, actually.) But I would have much rather been at the Loop/Godflesh/World Domination Enterprises show at London's Astoria that year. Think of it in terms of the used CD store: You might get, say, four bucks trade-in value for the last P-jam disc. But the guy at the store will give you 50 cents for a CD of World Domination's debut album Let's Play Domination. That disc is something I, personally, would skip a mortgage payment to own. (BTW, I do have 12 copies of it on vinyl.)

The whole basis of punk/new wave/alternative rock culture was to create something new that meant something to people who didn't want to be defined by horrible trends in '70s American FM radio. As much as I love Radiohead's ability to make Shoreline Ampitheater feel like a 1100-capacity club during their Amnesiac tour, I'm still going to reminisce about seeing Skull Kontrol with 35 people I never cared about. And there ain't nothing Anthony DeCurtis, Edna Gunderson or Neil Strausswill ever say or write to change that. So the next time you're in somebody's basement watching some band with a handful of folks you don't know, you might be making history; namely your own.

Actually, this is all foreshadowing for my 77th birthday tomorrow. I'll get back to you in a few days once I recover.